Sail Free (part 15...a fantasy epic continued)
Freed slaves abate
at last released hearts elate
they dance and swing
gold coins and gems
they pass around
treasure hold abound
no quarrels or petty scuffles this day
Artul a smile wide beams
hooray!
Kiara joins in
kisses his lips in celebration
spirits peak mind's elation
a boy scurries up the rigging
plays his drum and whistles tunes
they drink the wine fill up on food
hams, dates, and beef steak consume
with joyful hearts relieved tensions
they nap and laze
bodies relaxation
a group communes and tasks resume
a great one chosen
to guide the ship and crew
takes helm and wheel
strong hands direct
they raise the sails
draw the immense steel anchor
obligatory rancor
the sun shines bright beams
burns through cloud seams
their destination set true
the port capital Ardun
with bold song
they sing and mingle
shouting in unison joyful angle
melodious ruckus gratification
"The winds have changed and life returns
HAROO HAROO
the whips we burn us slaves set free
HAROO HAROO
to Hel their souls
for lives they sold
the pigs they wallow'd
in silver and gold
now, light, peaks, through,
oh devils we hardly new ya!"
the sails fill and billow
propulsion indulging
winds blessing
pick up speed and break the waves
eyes peeking through
telescopic looking glass
boy in his nest atop the mast
Artul twists the bands
scornful reprimand
spell attempts return bland
no magic essence burns
he bashes with steel hammer
inspects closer
no cracks or weakness
all efforts return in vain
the vile bands restrain
eternal like the bard's refrain
Kiara notices a rune etching
"To those who nether seek
all calamity made weak
no access to the source
empty vessel devoid the force!"
she curses in frustration
nearby a sailor
notices her remonstration
asks to inspect the band
gauging the runes he concludes
"Powerful evil this
black sorcery of the gravest sort
you must rid yourself soon
your soul will be consumed!"
wise advice relates
a sage with knowledge great
in Ardun he may still reside
great magic weaver
ancient age
alive in a tower cloister
if ship lands disembark
straight to the Magisterium hark
he presses a piece of tattered parchment
into her hand he lays a map
his face grave as funeral processions
Artul with jest relieves some tension
they thank the man for kind acquaintance
useful knowledge advice transferred
their hearts share gratitude
as minds spin yarns
they strap on arms
thoughts of the void disarm.